


A Lesson in Restraint

by kylo_bae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Eventual sexy times, F/M, Jedi Padawan!Rey, Jedi/Senator AU, Senator!Ben Organa, Star Wars AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylo_bae/pseuds/kylo_bae
Summary: Rey is tasked with her first official solo mission as a Padawan: protect Senator Ben Organa after a recent assassination attempt amidst the current political turmoil plaguing the galaxy. Unfortunately, Rey is fairly certain it’s against the Jedi Code to throttle the man you’re supposed to be guarding, regardless of how utterly infuriating he is.





	A Lesson in Restraint

* * *

**Republic City, Hosnian Prime**

* * *

An angry hiss of air, escaping through the vents of the assassin’s mask, shattered the calm of the elegant bedroom.

The elegant, _empty_ bedroom.

The black-clad figure dropped fluidly from the ceiling from which he had been crawling along in a decidedly arachnid-like manner. Plush carpeting stifled any noise the landing might have made, causing his lips to spread into a sneer. Filthy, kriffing Senators and their love for extravagance.

Well, if he was successful tonight, there’d be one _less_ Senator darkening the galaxy – and a whole lot of blood darkening the fancy floor.

The thought placating him temporarily, his eyes darted about the shadowy corners of the room to ensure that his target wasn’t lurking about in any inconvenient places. Not that it would be terribly difficult even if the Senator was cowering someplace, waiting for the chance to escape or attack. These politician types never _did_ like to dirty their own hands, in his experience.

He padded over to the closet doors, kicking them open with one hand hovering warily over his blaster.

 _Nothing_. Just rows and rows of fine robes hanging uniformly.

With mounting frustration, he stalked over to the small ‘fresher that adjoined the bedroom (it wouldn’t be the first time he’d shot a man dead on the toilet, after all. There really was no honor among thieves and murderers). He snarled – empty again. The rest of the living quarters had been similarly unoccupied, and he was beginning to doubt the intelligence that had for certain placed Organa here at this time.

…but where the hell _else_ would the Senator be? It was three o’clock in the blasted morning. And if he couldn’t finish his mark off tonight, that translated into yet another few weeks of reconnaissance – providing his contractor’s displeasure at the botched mission didn’t result in a premature, _permanent_ retirement for him, that was.

His hand slammed heavily against a nearby bedside table, causing its top drawer to pop out with a groan of protest and something clunky to slide into sight. The object was sleek and cylindrical, with curious little vents on each side. Almost idly, he reached towards it.

“I don’t believe that belongs to you.”

The assassin’s body seized, muscles spasming before locking into paralysis. He twitched his fingers – _or he told his fingers to move, knew his brain was sending signals to his fingers to MOVE –_ but nothing happened. His holstered blaster was still strapped uselessly against his leg, even as he felt his feet leave the ground and his body rotate slowly through the air in a gruesome facsimile of a puppet on strings.

Why was he frozen? Why couldn’t he _move?_ It wasn’t fear. He _wasn’t_ afraid. _He_ _wasn’t afraid, wasn’t afraid, wasn’t afraid…_

And there – as the assassin slowed to a stop in his unwilling airborne rotation, his gaze snapped to a tall figure sitting leisurely in an armchair by the room’s only window. Moonlight outlined the person in a silver glow, revealing the profile of the very man who, ironically, he had been so desperately hunting for this evening.

How had he not seen this man before? He had done a thorough sweep of the entire room, and given the sheer _size_ of the Senator, the man should have been impossible to miss.

He felt his bowels loosen in sudden terror, a sensation he hadn’t experienced for too many years to count. Just what _was_ this devilry?

He watched as a wide, lazy smile crossed the Senator’s mouth. As though he considered the presence of a would-be assassin in his bedroom more of an amusing triviality than a real threat.

“Now,” the Senator said. “Why don’t we begin with the basics? Such as who, exactly, is funding your lethal little escapades into my quarters.”

His jaw went slack as the preternatural paralysis disappeared, presumably to allow him to speak. To _confess_.

And therein lay the error.

With a grimace, his teeth crunched down on the miniscule capsule tucked inside his mouth. And as the sickly sweet taste of the poison erupted, the assassin knew no more.

* * *

  **Jedi Temple, Ach To**

* * *

Many lightyears away, stretching across stars and moons and suns and planets, a young woman jolted upwards in her cot. Her hands clutched at her head, frantically attempting to rub away the sudden ache that had formed there.

Rey fought the urge to curl up into herself, to drag the rough wool blanket up over thigh and hip and arm and head in a makeshift shield against the _anger_ she could feel beating like a relentless drum inside her skull. It was likely the remnants of a nightmare – her rational mind _knew_ that – but never had a nightmare caused such _agony_.

A whimper choked her; she clamped her fingers like a vise over her mouth after a cautious glance at her roommate slumbering peacefully in the bunk below her. Rey swallowed, breathing harshly through her nose and forcing her body to lie back stiffly on the mattress. Cold sweat caused her bedclothes to plaster uncomfortably against her skin. 

Even as she shut her eyes tight, fruitlessly willing the return of sleep, she couldn’t escape the nagging sensation that someone, somewhere, was terribly, terribly upset.

* * *

Rey winced as a sharp tingling sensation crept along her legs, signaling the onset of them falling asleep due to the length of time she’d spent uncomfortably kneeling in the corner of Master Luke’s study. She cast a longing look towards the door, which was slightly ajar and therefore conducive to letting the lively chatter and laughter of the other apprentices drift enticingly into the room.

Unfortunately, this was a normal situation for her. Testament to that was the fact that she knew exactly how many cracks littered the wall she knelt before (fifteen) and how many dust bunnies continued to gather in the crevices of the floorboards (thirty-two).

A furtive glance at Master Luke showed him to be immersed in his musty old texts, looking for all the world to be ignorant to anything existing outside of the written word he cradled in his hands. Maybe, just _maybe_ , Rey would be able to sneak out of the room without her master being any the wiser. 

She scooted an inch towards the door, ignoring the agonizing protest of her muscles at being forced into mobility again. Her eyes shot back towards Master Luke – he appeared blissfully unaware of his student having made any rebellious movements at all.

A triumphant smile touched Rey’s lips as she sneakily shuffled on her knees, the doorway looming ever closer. While the lunch hour was nearly over, if she hurried she could probably still manage to wheedle a bit of bread or pastry from the cook to tide her over until dinner. Just another few feet and she would reach her sweet salvation – !

With a deafening _thunk_ in the otherwise silent room, a tome twice the size of Rey’s head came sailing through the air and plunked in front of her, foiling her escape route. _A Detailed History of the Noble Studies of the Jedi Scholars Throughout the Ages_ stared accusingly up at her in all of its three thousand-page glory. She scowled at it.

“Rey.”

And with that one word, all dreams of making a break for freedom and food shriveled up and died a pitiful death. Shoulders slumping, Rey peeked over at the source of the disapproving voice.

“Yes, Master?” Contriving to sound innocent, Rey decided, was much more difficult when you had just been caught trying to wriggle your way out of what was supposed to be character-building punishment.

Although if you were to ask _her_ opinion, Rey thought she had quite enough character already, thank-you-very-much. Never mind that those character descriptors usually involved the words ‘daydreamer’, ‘impulsive’, and ‘always hungry’, according to an exasperated Master Luke.

“You were to meditate on the merits of self-control for _two_ hours, my young Padawan.” Luke’s gravelly voice was as mild as ever, and yet Rey still felt like wincing from the subtle reproach. Although she did grudgingly admit to some admiration over her teacher’s controlled mien – when Rey was annoyed, everyone in a five-mile radius tended to be aware of it. “Unless you have reached absolute enlightenment in exactly ten minutes, which is an achievement only the most gifted of Jedi Masters have attained,” Luke continued, “I believe you still have more than an hour remaining.”

More than ten years spent as Master Luke’s student, receiving the tutelage of the greatest living Jedi, had served to teach Rey quite a bit. She had learned the technique of the lightsaber, come to know about the encompassing presence of the Force, implemented the virtues of compassion and empathy in her daily life…

…but she still struggled a bit (okay, a lot) with the whole ‘boundless patience’ and ‘thinking before blurting out whatever was floating around in your mind’ aspect of it all.

“But Master,” she protested. “I _do_ have self-control. I don’t _need_ to meditate on it.” Enough that she was still alive and had all her limbs intact, anyways. Best not to mention the spur-of-the-moment excursions which involved her pinwheeling through the sky in Master Luke’s old ship that she had fixed up on the sly. She had the sneaking suspicion that she would be forever more confined to her room if _that_ leaked out.

Luke raised one bushy gray eyebrow. “You intentionally skipped your first lesson for the day.” 

“It was on migration patterns of tauntauns!” She scrunched her face in bemusement. “Really, Master Luke, how is _that_ supposed to help me become a Jedi?” The two extra hours she had spent in lieu of class in the compound’s hangar taking apart and re-assembling fuel drivers had felt _much_ more rewarding. 

“A Jedi is more than the weapon they wield or the code they follow,” Luke said patiently. “We are guardians of wisdom, an accumulation of ancient knowledge.”

Her head cocked to the side in confusion, wisps of light brown hair tickling against her cheeks. “…migration patterns of tauntauns is ancient knowledge?”

Rey had the suspicion that if Master Luke were a more emotive man, he would have slapped an aggravated hand to his forehead, just like some of the nuns had the tendency to do when she argued with them. Or when she accidentally destroyed parts of the landscape during dueling practice (in her defense, that hadn’t actually happened in four months now – a personal best for her, and something that had actually resulted in the caretaker nuns who maintained the island to stop shooting her such dirty looks all the time).

Finally she relented, straightening up into formal position and folding her hands properly on knees. Attempting to sound as respectful as possible, she said, “Master Luke, I _know_ the importance of learning, I do. But I’ve spent years just being in a classroom, reading books. _Please_ , I need practical experience, out in the real world –“

This was a tired, worn argument between them. And it was with a crestfallen heart that Rey realized her teacher was going to respond as he _always_ did. You didn’t need to be a Jedi mind-reader to glean the half-sympathetic, half-stern expression scrawled there.

“You are not ready, my young apprentice.” Each syllable elicited a plummeting sensation in her gut, as though she were one of the punching bags used on the training grounds.

“I’m nineteen years old! I can’t stay here forever, Master!”

The careworn creases in Luke’s face seemed to deepen with a sudden weariness. He leaned forwards, affixing her with that usual knowing look of his. “Age is not always a reliable tool against which to measure preparedness, Rey. The old can be foolish, the youthful wise. But I cannot in good conscience send you out into the galaxy as you are now, child.” 

 _Child_. The softly-spoken epithet caused prickly tears of frustration to sting her eyes. She closed them, refusing to allow the stoic Jedi Master to see the shameful wateriness that threatened to spill over. 

The two of them lapsed into terse silence. Rey’s hands fell limply off her lap before clenching into tight fists against the ground of this tiny little planet in this tiny little corner of the universe – which she was apparently never, ever going to be able to leave.

* * *

“Hello you.”

Rey barely stirred as her roommate and fellow Padawan, Janna, plopped down beside her, invading the moping space she’d set up for herself on a fallen tree in the forest following her disastrous talk with Master Luke. Even a monosyllabic grunt of acknowledgment felt like too much of an effort with the current foul mood she found herself mired in.

She did, however, pay more attention to the warm bun waved before her face a second later, the dusty coating of flour tickling her nose. Janna’s delighted laughter echoed in the clearing as the bun disappeared from her hand and was unceremoniously stuffed into Rey’s mouth.

“I thought that would do the trick,” Janna said smilingly. “You came out of Master Luke’s study with such a thunderous face. And I nearly had a heart attack when I realized you didn’t even go to lunch – I don’t think you’ve ever missed a meal since you first came here.”

Rey continued to chew morosely. Even freshly baked bread, which she considered the cure for most of the universe’s ills, wasn’t working its usual magic on her. Her teacher’s firm letdown was still ricocheting about in her mind; she wasn’t sure she could relate the specifics of what had happened without wanting to break something. And after the nuns had only _just_ seemingly started to like her again, she couldn’t risk going on an angry training rampage to relieve some of her stress.

“That bad, hm?” Janna’s voice broke through Rey’s moody reverie. She absently twirled one of the vibrant orange headtails that marked her as a Twi’lek about her finger. “Although I _did_ tell you not to skip class, Rey. Master doesn’t react kindly to that. I heard he made Aki-ro do _five_ hours of meditation last time _he_ skipped, so really you probably got off easy –”

“It wasn’t that,” Rey sighed. Blades of grass tickled against her bare feet as she dragged them about in aimless patterns. “It was just…we had _the talk_.”

Janna blinked, her blue eyes owlish. “The ta – _oh._ Again?”

“Yeah." 

“How was it?”

 Rey shot her a _look_. “Does it seem like I’m going anywhere anytime soon?”

“Well,” Janna hedged. “Maybe if you stopped pestering Master Luke about it so much, he might see it as a sign of maturity. That you’re ready for an assignment of your own.”       

“I’ll be as old as Master Yoda before he ever thinks I’m ready for a solo assignment,” Rey grumbled in a despairing tone.

“Er, isn’t Master Yoda, um, dead?” the other girl posed delicately.

“Exactly.”

With that, Rey allowed herself to flop bonelessly onto the forest floor, grass and wildflowers enveloping her in a comforting embrace. The sun filtered down through the leaves, casting playful loops of light along her body. She shuddered, as she always did, when she remembered another planet in which the sun shone just as brightly but far more unforgivingly. A planet where her future had been consigned to the greedy clutches of a ruthless junk boss who had viewed her as little more than another potential scavenger to reap riches for him. 

 _Jakku._ The name was like a monster lurking in the corners of her mind, clawing bloodily to the forefront of her memories. Compared to that Force-forsaken wasteland that Master Luke had rescued her from as a child, Ach-To was a veritable utopia. And she _did_ appreciate them, both Luke and his little haven of serenity, even as much as she wanted to leave and escape the suffocating restlessness that had plagued her for months now. 

It was nothing short of torture, Rey reflected, continually watching other apprentices receive their first off-world assignments. Even though Master Luke usually relegated the younger Padawans to simple protection details or to serve as mediators in minor disputes, both those things still sounded infinitely more exciting than _Rey’s_ current duties (which mostly involved dusting the alters that held sacred, crumbling Jedi books and sweeping the corridors of the Temple until her arms ached).

And stars, while Rey would readily admit to possessing _some_ faults, she didn’t feel that she was any more brash than some of the Padawans who had already been granted the privilege of taking on little missions of their own. Sometimes she was stricken with the discomfiting feeling that Master Luke was determined to make sure that she in particular remained locked up on this island.

Rey figured that Master Luke just didn’t _understand_. After all, she had listened with awe to the stories and eagerly absorbed the legends surrounding her teacher. When Luke Skywalker had been _her_ age, he had been immersed in fighting alongside his sister and friends to free the galaxy from the tyranny of an evil Empire, traversing the furthest reaches of the darkness to bring light to those who had none. Was it so terrible that she longed to do the same?

If she was only given half a chance, she _knew_ she could be of help somewhere.

“You’ll get your chance, Rey. I know you will.” Startled, Rey met the unnaturally solemn eyes of her friend. She hadn’t even realized she had spoken aloud.

“Yes, maybe.” The words were ashes in her mouth, tasteless and bland. “Someday.”

Rey rolled gracefully to her feet, brushing errant clumps of dirt and flora off her plain, practical tunic and leggings. Inhaling deeply, she cast a bright grin down at Janna. Not as brilliant as her normal smiles, and her cheeks felt painfully stretched, but she had to start somewhere. “But enough moping, right? Here’s to the return of cheerful Rey.”

The orange Twi’lek snorted as she clambered up off the log. She snagged Rey’s sleeve, tugging her along. “Is cheerful Rey coming to dueling practice today?”

“Do happabores stink?” 

“You and your odd human idioms. I’m going to assume that’s a yes,” Janna said. She gave Rey a genial pat on the shoulder. “Just try not to decimate the training field this time, okay?” 

Rey scoffed as they tread together along the familiar dusty path that led back to the Temple compound. “One time, and no one lets me forget about it.”

“Well, you _do_ tend to get a little overenthusiastic. And it was _three_ times, Rey.”

* * *

Curled up in bed later that night, her muscles pleasantly sore from a long bout of sparring, Rey found rest impossible with the gnawing sensation that was festering inside her. Namely, the fear that she would wake up entrenched deep in the grip of another nightmare again. With her hair loose and trailing down her back, and clad in a too-big nightgown while fretting about having to sleep, Rey pathetically felt like she was nine rather than nineteen.

“Hey, Janna?” Rey whispered. Her fingers twisted anxiously in her sheets. “Are you still awake?”

“Mm?” came the drowsy grunt from below.

Rey hesitated, wondering how to phrase her next words without seeming to be too much of an oddity. Janna was one of the few agemates in the compound who had never regarded Rey strangely, or been skittish about the slight Padawan girl who possessed a raw, volatile relationship with the Force that didn’t always manifest in pleasant ways due to her lack of control. “Last night…did you feel anything?”

She felt the lower bunk rustle as Janna shrugged, letting out a yawn. “Hm? Feel anything like…what?”

 _Anger_. 

 _Confusion_. 

 _Fear_.

_Emotions welling up inside a heart that wasn’t hers, but may well have been for all that she ached alongside of it._

Would it be too melodramatic to say she had felt a disturbance in the Force? Even with the shroud of apprehension that had settled over her heart, that felt far too self-important.

“Nothing. Just forget I asked,” Rey said faintly, her momentary courage dwindling. She forced a small, reassuring smile, even though her friend wouldn’t be able to see it. “I guess it was just a bad dream…”

* * *

Jedi Master Luke Skywalker had faced down many a terrifying creature in his day: Rancors and wampas. Relatives that chopped off bodily appendages and wanted to drag you over to the dark side. Wrinkled old corpses that were the literal manifestation of evil and sought to the rule the galaxy. Puberty.

But none were so frightening as the sight of Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan and New Alderaan, former Senator of the Republic and leader of the Rebellion, showing up in hologram form in the wee hours before dawn in a furious mood. The fact that she was miniature and blue did little to alleviate her intimidation factor.

Really, it was such a pity that she’d chosen to eschew being trained as a traditional Jedi after the conclusion of the war and the dissolution of the Rebellion. Luke could have unleashed his sister upon the galaxy as a singlehanded peacekeeping force and retired early.

…er, not that he would ever abandon his hallowed calling as a Jedi Master (especially because the last time he’d tried that in a pique of self-doubt, Yoda had materialized before him, and Luke had found out that damn walking stick hurt just as much when a Force ghost wielded it).

“Leia,” he greeted her, with a pervasive warmth rarely bestowed upon anyone else. “How are you?”

The smile was not returned. In fact, she looked ready to melt flesh from bone with the sheer force of her glare. To keep from shrinking back meekly, Luke had to remind himself once again of all the great evils he had conquered in his life.

“There was an assassination attempt on Ben yesterday morning,” Leia ground out without preamble.

Luke straightened abruptly. For the first time, he noticed the tremors in his sister’s slender hands, the flashing eyes that possessed more than a hint of panic. “Is he well?” he asked. He could only assume his nephew had survived the attempt – otherwise, he likely would have been reading HoloNet headlines about Leia Organa scorching her way through half the galaxy to find the culprit.

One hand rose to massage away the tight feeling that had risen in his chest. His complicated and admittedly turbulent relationship with his only nephew aside, the thought of Ben falling prey to harm elicited nothing but pain. 

“He’s alive,” Leia said. The indomitable General with a spine of steel (and more balls than any man, it was commonly said) took a shaky breath. “Naturally, he can handle himself. As he’s told me over and over in the last twenty-four hours.”

Of course he could. Luke himself had seen to that...had gone to great lengths to _ensure_ it, in fact, before his own doubts had crept poisonously into his mind. Even in the murkiest depths of repressed memories, it was difficult not to recall the reserved, brown-eyed boy that so burned with unhappiness and anger as a child, the boy who had possessed such unadulterated _power_ that it had disturbed Luke to the point of fearfulness. 

Disturbed him to the point of casting his bewildered nephew out of the Temple, training incomplete. Shame flooded through Luke, as it always did when he was reminded of his actions.

However, the Force’s sense of retribution for Luke allowing his dread to drive him towards cruelty was truly unparalleled. The following year, Luke had stumbled upon yet another apprentice whose untrained power had eerily mirrored the boy’s. Her eyes too, Luke remembered, had burned.

Leia’s sigh crackled distortedly through the hologram, jerking Luke back to the present. “The problem, however, is that the assassin is dead.”

“Was it…Ben?”

“No.” The word cracked through the air with a decided iciness. Though more than a decade had passed, it sometimes seemed too little time for Leia to completely forgive Luke for his folly. To forgive him for his lack of faith in her son, and by extension, _her_. “Suicide. Of course, that means all answers died with him.” 

“Including who ordered my nephew to be murdered,” Luke said somberly. 

His sister’s form nodded curtly, folding her arms across her front. “That’s why I want you to send someone. One of your students, to help investigate this matter discreetly.”

“And more particularly, to protect Ben?” Luke ventured. He tapped a finger thoughtfully against his knee. “I can’t imagine he was pleased.”

Leia’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “He’s trying to keep everything quiet as he looks into the attempt. He was…quite adamant about not wanting this.”

“About not wanting my help, you mean.” A brittle smile crossed Luke’s face.

“ _Anyone’s_ help,” she corrected. Her eyes softened, some of the chilly guardedness Luke had long come to expect from her fading slightly. “You know, Han and Ben swear up and down they’re nothing alike, but they’ve both got that damn stubborn streak that drives me crazy. But he’s my _son_. I can’t leave this up to chance. I can’t risk losing him.” 

Luke shifted uncomfortably at the naked plea in his twin’s voice. He seldom regretted his choices – leaving behind his sister and friends to resurrect the Jedi order, living in solitude to better teach his students and commune with the Force, trying his best to detach himself from all worldly desires – except when faced with the crushing realization that he couldn’t be present when his only remaining family needed him.

“I’ll send help, Leia,” he said. “I promise.”

“Thank you, Luke.” Her voice cracked on his name, before she gruffly cleared her throat. “I only hope it’s someone with a will strong enough to match my pigheaded son’s,” Leia noted dryly. “I have no doubt he intends to drive them off at first opportunity, given his reluctance about this.”

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, exhaling a breath that was more akin to a groan. Eager hazel eyes flashed through his mind, along with that niggling guilt that remained when he recalled the downtrodden expression that had accompanied them. Unfortunately, he knew someone who fitted that aforementioned pigheaded description to an uncanny degree.

_Please, I need practical experience, out in the real world! I can’t stay here forever, Master!_

And really, it _was_ just a rudimentary protection assignment.

Surely there wasn’t too much that could go wrong, even for a very headstrong Padawan.

* * *

**Republic City, Hosnian Prime**

* * *

“Senator Organa! Senator Organa, _please_.”

Ignoring the frantic cries of the aide and the heaving puffs of breath as the man struggled to keep pace with him, Ben continued his purposeful stride towards the hangar bay.

He slowed to a stop outside his shuttle, nimbly zipping up the front of his black flight suit the rest of the way. 

The Senate aide, having finally caught up, leaned heavily against the gleaming side of the ship with a wheeze. One pointed glare from Ben, however, and the man was stumbling over himself to straighten up.

“Senator Organa,” the aide tried again, desperation leaking into his voice. “Please, you have a meeting at thirteen hundred with Governor Kidou, then the New Alderaan governing committee’s review of the Prime Minister candidates at fifteen hundred, followed by the memorial for Commander Stern and the Senate’s annual dinner for –“

“I told you to clear my schedule,” Ben intoned calmly. Shoving obsidian strands of hair out of his face with impatient hands, he tied them back loosely. He slid on his flight helmet next, the shadowy tint that enveloped his vision a welcome contrast to the blinding sunlight outside. It also had the added benefit of muffling the incessant complaining assailing him at the moment.

The aide spluttered, eyes bugging out comically. “Yes, but the schedule – there’s far too many things, and I – I thought you were _joking_!”

“Evidently I wasn’t.” A hydraulic hiss sounded as the cockpit door opened, allowing him entrance. One gloved hand dragged slowly over the familiar panels inside the ship. The fine layer of dust that came away reminded him how long it had been since he’d left Republic City. “I’m taking a personal day. I have something to… _retrieve_.” The words rolled unpleasantly off his tongue. Ben unsuccessfully fought back a surge of annoyance – something he’d been doing quite frequently ever since capitulating to his mother’s increasingly vocal demands about this whole irritating affair.

“Something to retrieve?” The other man said blankly. “ _What_?”

Ben’s grimly amused smile was concealed beneath the helmet.

“My _bodyguard_ ,” he said, and shut the door in the aide’s gaping face.

* * *

  **to be continued**  

**Author's Note:**

> Dear lord, I'm actually attempting this...a multi-chapter Star Wars story. This has been a persistent plot bunny bouncing around my brain for some time, and I had a lot of fun starting to actually put it to paper. This story follows canon up through Return of the Jedi, and after that it's all me and the many, many liberties I'm taking twisting about Star Wars to my liking. I hope everyone has fun reading!


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